Summary

George was afraid of heights, so Fred dared and dared him into going higher and higher–patiently, kindly, gently–until at nine George didn’t want to get down from a broom, even for dinner.

When one of them set it up, the other had the punchline. When one of them started it, the other finished the sentence, or the sandwich, or the job. When Fred stared after Angelina in the Great Hall, George noticed, and looked to his plate.

When Fred waxed eloquent about the grace of Angelina’s passes in practice, George thought about what that meant for Oliver’s game strategies. He remembered what it had been like, being afraid of air beneath your feet. When Fred talked smugly about the gardens outside the Yule Ball–the little niches and nooks, shadowed and cool, Angelina’s backless dress–George fiddled with their latest recipe for Puking Pasties.